Katniss of the Rye
by triojediknights
Summary: I have not seen many fics pairing Katniss with Peeta's middle brother (usually named Rye), so I wanted to write this brief romance between the two. Here is the first chapter. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1: Impossible

**Chapter 1: Impossible**

"Done," I agree as Greasy Sae deposits the bag of coins into my palm. Five whole gold pieces! Then again, she has always been my best customer. That is my last trade of the day, clearing my schedule for the next duty of my day. I exit the bustling Hob and begin heading up the Main Street into the Merchant sector of Town...

I live in the Seam, the poorest section of the poorest district in all of Panem, District 12. Where you can starve to death in safety. And a great many do. But never me. Ever since I was 11 years old, I have hunted to feed my family, after my father was killed in a mining accident. That was sixteen winters ago now. Sixteen. I never know whether to laugh or cry.

I approach via the loading dock, climbing the stone platform before tapping sharply on the back door. A wrinkled face and a warm smile greet me. "Right on time, Katniss," the Baker greets. "Come on in."

I smile back one of the easiest smiles that I allow myself around anyone. I have never been a sociable person. I suppose I have my guarded nature to thank for that, built up over a hardscrabble life in squalor, where it has always been seen as more foolish to trust than to remain cold and distant. It is a philosophy I have largely taken to heart. If there is one thing I learned from my father's death and how if emotionally led my mother to an early grave, it is that attachments are often not worth the pain of losing that loved one in the end. It is an outlook I have done especially well to remember in regards to romance. I have never dated, despite how desirable I am to many men. That's my sister Prim talking, not me. I will never marry. Marriage leads to babies, and babies grow into children, fresh for the Reaping...

My thoughts are interrupted as I sense the Baker ask me something. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Mellark, I couldn't save any squirrels today." The squirrels I hunt for market are the Baker's guilty pleasure. As I hang up my hooded cloak, I proceed up the long hallway, entering the kitchen through the back.

I nearly bump into him. All six feet of his stocky build, topped with a head of blonde hair. And those eyes that are as blue as a summer sky, even in the dead of winter...

"Well, if it isn't the Wild Dame herself. Bought time you showed up; you're late," he pokes as he shuffles past me with a plate of cheese buns, meant for the oven.

I gawk at him in offended disbelief. "I am not late!" and I point to the clock on the wall, which now chimes to emphasize my point. "It's exactly noon!"

"Actually, it's 12:02," the young man dismisses with a wave of his hand. "Didn't I tell you that?"

I place my hands on my hips. "You must certainly did not!"

"Well, it is," he smirks. "Ask Dad if you don't believe me."

"Fuck you!"

"What a good idea. Go right ahead," and he gets right into my personal space.

I scowl, even as my cheeks burn traitorously. "Will you just get back to work?"

"Will you marry me?"

I nearly drop the tray of cupcakes I have just been lifting from the counter. "What?" I blink at him, momentarily speechless.

His eyes twinkle with mirth. "Just looking for something to shut you up."

I huff. "Thank God, because your proposal sucked. So, no. You're impossible, Rye Mellark."

I never set out to be friends with the middle Mellark son. If that exchange can even be classified under the term 'friendship.' Half the time, I think Rye is just waiting for the opportunity to kill me. But he has had enough death in his life. A decade ago, he lost both his older and younger brother in the worst Reaping for the Hunger Games you can imagine. The Third Quarter Quell, which allowed a special twist. Only males were allowed as tribute that year, and the first tribute Reaped automatically entered his brother in as the second tribute, if he had one. Rye's elder brother, Leven was Reaped, and then Peeta - the youngest son who was my age - was chosen. Afterwards, Mother insisted on entering the Justice Building to console the Baker, who had apparently been a childhood friend of hers before she left life as a Merchant to marry my Seam father.

As Prim and I had waited outside, I saw him. Head in his hands, but refusing to cry. I suppose he didn't have to - the life looked sucked out of him. His very last Reaping, now free of the Games forever, yet he still had to watch his brothers fight to the death.

Despite my reserved nature, I had approached and awkwardly offered my condolences, to which Rye had thanked me. He then introduced himself before I could do something rude like run away.

That is the only exchange in which I never heard Rye Mellark crack a joke or saw him make an ass of himself.

If I really stop and think about it, joking around has probably been his coping mechanism all these years. His mother didn't find one in time to save herself; convinced the family was ruined after both her sacrificed sons died in the Games, she allegedly stole a Peacekeeper's pistol and committed suicide with it. I only interacted with her a few times when I was younger, none of which were pleasant - she was a bitch of a woman whom supposedly beat her own sons thanks to an uncontrollable temper. Rye has never confirmed nor denied these stories, and I know better than to ask.

The first hour - lunchtime for most other businesses - is slow, but the pace picks up after 1 o'clock. Before I know it, the sun is low in the sky. 5 PM. Quitting time. I hate how early darkness falls in the winter time. And I can see snow flurries now too, through the window. I have to hurry if I am to meet Prim for dinner.

"Bye, Mr. Mellark!" I call over my shoulder as I reach for my traveling cloak. Rye wanders into the back after sweeping up front.

"You're not seriously going out in this, are you?" he stares.

I glower at him. "I am. I can walk back perfectly fine on my own. All you have to do is nod like you agree, and let me."

"The hell I will!" Rye growls. And before I can protest, he gets his coat, jams his hat firmly on his head, offers me his arm and proceeds to walk me home.

I am taken aback, but pleased too, I must admit. Who knew Rye Mellark, the boy who refuses to grow up, could be so... gentlemanly? Then again, it's probably a reflection of his Merchant upbringing. Even so, willingly walking a Seam woman home is quite bold for him, considering the lingering animosity between class lines that has gone back to the time of my parents, if not farther.

As the snow gusts around us, I scan the windows of the homes and shops. Candles are being lit in the windows, adding just a hint of heat for the evening meal. Families sitting down, thankful that they have survived another day.

"Do you always eat at your sister's?" Rye asks.

I shrug. "Not always. But often enough, and Rory doesn't mind. It's better than eating alone in Spinster's End." Spinster's End is on the outskirts of the Seam, where old maids and unmarried women and even some widows live. For many of its residents, living there is social suicide. But not me. It is where I will likely spend the rest of my days. I don't care if most of the people my age in District 12 are married, including Rye's and my friends...

Rye smirks at my nonchalance. "Maybe you should get off your high horse. Toast the bread with someone." Toasting bread is the traditional marriage ceremony in Twelve, conducted after signing legal papers in the Justice Building. No one in Twelve feels married without it. It may seem corny - my sister's wedding to Rory Hawthorne certainly was - but even I have to admit it's touching just the same.

I furrow my brow at Rye, recalling our exchange from earlier. "If this is another one of your lousy proposals..."

He chuckles, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It's not. Just wondering why... you're 27 years old and you still haven't gotten hitched."

I frown. "And do I have to be? I'm never getting married, Rye. In my opinion, marriage only makes a person more vulnerable."

"It could also make someone stronger, if only you allowed it." His statement shocks me. One of the things that has always made Rye fascinating to me is that he always seemed like a kindred spirit, as far as marriage is concerned. At least, he has never Toasted the bread, and he's a year older than me.

I brush the comment. "And even if I ever did marry, I would want it to be for love."

"Not economic advantage?" Rye probes. Many marriages in District 12 are based on this principle. My parents' union, you might say, was an exception rather than the rule, and certainly not for that reason alone.

I stop in my tracks and spin to face him, my jaw slack in offense. "Of course not! Who do you think I am?!"

Rye laughs low and long. "Not that kind of girl, that's for sure. I didn't mean any offense."

I pause a moment, before I smirk. "I'm sure you didn't," I jab. We continue on.

"For me," Rye admits. "I just want to marry someone who I know is my equal. Not in class, necessarily, that doesn't matter. Just... equal in everything else."

I try to ignore how oddly touched I am by that admission, further hiding it by rolling my eyes and grinning. "You don't have an equal, Rye. You're in a class all by yourself!"

It was meant to be a tease rather than a compliment, but he still takes it as the latter. "Thank you, Katniss," and he sounds sincere.

We arrive at my sister's house. I can smell dinner cooking. "Thanks for walking me home," I murmur. "You were right not to let me go out on..."

"Doth my ears deceive me?" and Rye cocks a hand to his ear. "'You're right?' How do those words taste coming out of your mouth?"

"Like vinegar," I deadpan. I huff out a breath to get the white powder of snow off my lips. "OK, more like snow, but still..."

Rye laughs. "Good night, Katniss."

"Good night." And I watch him until he disappears into the flurries.


	2. Chapter 2: Have Done With It

**Chapter 2: Have Done With It**

"Prim? I'm home!" I hang up my wet cloak as I call, even though it technically isn't my house.

My 23-year-old baby sister, a beauty with Merchant blonde hair and blue eyes inherited from our mother, bustles in from the kitchen.

"Thank God! It's freezing out there! Rory better be home soon... come help me by the stove."

My sister's courtship with Rory Hawthorne, the younger brother of my former hunting partner, Gale, started off tumultuously. At their last Reaping, a jubilant Rory gave her a big old wet kiss without her permission, resulting in him getting a black eye. Prim was professional enough to treat it as a Healer, and once Rory manned up a little bit, they dated. They were engaged within weeks of their first going out and were married in Mother's living room not long after. It was the last celebration Mother attended before she died. Rory works alongside his brother in the district mines, and between that and Prim's Healing wages, they are one of the better-off families in the Seam. As I help at the stove, I can't help but glance at their wedding picture on the mantle.

"What are you thinking about?" Prim jolts me out of my thoughts.

"Nothing. Just how nice your and Rory's wedding was."

"Yeah. But every Toasting is nice. I've been to enough of them to know. Most everyone Rory and I know are married."

"Except me," I point out, willing to make fun of myself this once if it will make her smile.

I regret it immediately. Prim turns back to the soup she's boiling and practically sings, "And Rye Mellark..."

"Prim?" I narrow my eyes at her. "What are you saying?"

"Oh, Katniss, come off it! You don't think I didn't see him walk you home? The two of you have been friends for years, you clearly like each other, you practically _live_ at the bakery anyway! And you're the only one I know who could possibly make an honest man out of that boy. Why don't you stick some toast and your tongue down his throat..."

" _Prim!_ "

"And have done with it?" She plows right over me.

I scoff and throw up my hands, moving away from her.

"You don't just marry someone for the hell of it, Prim! You should know it doesn't work like that!"

"Mother would have wanted to see you get married..."

"It doesn't matter what Mother would have wanted because Mother isn't here!"

"And neither will the Baker, for much longer!"

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything. Rye will inherit the bakery once his dad passes and do you really think he can run it on his own?"

"Of course not! Not as though I don't think he could. I'd still help him!"

"And allow all the neighbors to think you two are fucking or living in sin..."

"I could give two shits what the neighbors think!"

"Then call their bluff," Prim finishes. "I happen to think you and Rye would make a fine couple. And I don't exactly like the idea of you holed up in Spinster's End forever!"

I sit down at the kitchen table with a huff. "He asked me to marry him today."

Prim gasps. "I knew it! What did you say?"

"It was a joke, Prim!" I add, quietly as an afterthought: "I still felt the need to say No, though."

"Because you're afraid," Prim guesses. I don't answer; I don't have to. I feel her lay a hand on my shoulder. "You can be afraid of a great many things, Katniss. But don't let love be one of them."

I sit in silence as my eyes flit over to Prim's wedding picture, then to my traveling cloak, and back again. I think of Rye, preparing for an inheritance I know he never wanted. To allow him to carry that burden alone would be cruel. Crueller than hanging on to my pride.

And how can I think this? Because, I realize with astonishment... I love him.

I steel my resolve. "Tell Rory I'll be late for dinner." And before Prim can stop me, I collect my traveling cloak and dive back into the cold.

* * *

The bakery's windows are dark when I arrive. Rye and Mr. Mellark must already be asleep. It isn't until I let myself in via the hidden key on the loading dock that I wonder: What am I even doing here? Am I just supposed to wake Rye up and tell him... what? How I feel? What would I say? I stink at conversation anyhow.

I suddenly jump when I hear what sounds like muffled sniffling coming from the front counter. Creeping through the back hallway, I enter the front of the shop to find Rye doubled over the counter, crying into a beer bottle. Ordinarily, I would make some joke about how he looks like Haymitch Abernathy, our district's only living Victor from the Hunger Games, but now is clearly not the time.

"Leven... Peeta..." he moans.

I have always known how much Rye misses his brothers, but I have never seen him cry about it before. He has always kept his grief private, which only makes me feel like I am intruding much more than I already am. I turn to go... and step on a squeaky floorboard. Drat.

Rye wheels around, staring at me through red and sloshed eyes. "What are you doing here?" he slurs.

I freeze. How to tell him? What to tell him? If I ever had doubts that this would be the worst possible time to... raise the question of a possible relationship, it is gone now. So all I can say is:

"I don't know. I just felt like I needed to be. Here, I mean."

Rye sighs heavily. "Well, you can go. I don't want you to see me like this."

I try not to show how much his words sting, and instead attempt to be understanding. "They would have wanted you to go on, Rye," I say gently.

Rye laughs ruefully and takes another swig. "Running a business I have no... business inheriting!"

"That's no way to be thinking," I frown.

"Why not? It's true. I was always the fuck-up son. Mom didn't bother to hide it. Peeta should have inherited this place; he had the knack for it..."

"So you're just gonna throw it all away?" I gawk.

"What are you, my mother?" Rye scowls.

"I sure hope not," I scoff as I fold my arms, hoping I can get him to laugh. He doesn't take the bait.

"Oh, right, I forgot - you're too holier than thou to be her!"

I gasp and slap him hard across the face. "You take that back, Rye Mellark!"

"No! I meant it!"

"Oh, that's nice. You're your true self when drunk off your ass!"

"Get out!"

"You'll have to throw me out!"

"I LOVE YOU!"

"MARRY ME!"

"I'M BEING SERIOUS!"

"SO AM I!"

We freeze, red-faced and our breaths heaving. Wait... did he just say he...?

Fuck it.

Slinging one arm around his neck so that it crooks at the elbow, I yank him down to me and crash my lips against his in a steamy kiss.

I've never kissed anyone before in my life. But I must be bad at it anyway, as my mouth bumps and slides awkwardly against his. Even when drunk, Rye is by far the better kisser. I whimper nervously, but don't object as his arms slither about my waist and pull me tight against his body. I feel his palms grope lower, cupping my ass through my pants.

Almost on instinct, I boldly raise one leg to his waist, hitching it around his torso. It is all the encouragement Rye needs to hoist me onto the countertop. His mouth pries open mine and our tongues battle for dominance; we are furiously making our now. I dare to close my eyes and moan in pleasure. "Hmmm..."

Our lips spring apart for just a moment, allowing me to gasp in a gulp of air. I scoot back along the counter just a fraction, ending the kiss on my terms. Rye is gazing at me as if he has never seen me before. It makes me bite my flushed and kissed lips nervously.

"Would you marry me if I asked you?" I search his eyes anxiously, waiting for a response. Rye focuses all his efforts and faculties on meeting my gaze, and I know he is serious when he says:

"Yes."

I cast my eyes askance. "Will you marry me, Rye?"

After a pause, I feel a finger lift my chin. Then his lips claim mine, so that the gasp dies in my throat.

"Now that's one proposal that doesn't suck," he whispers when we break apart. "Yes, Katniss."

I smirk. "Like you could have asked me any better."

But I plunge back in for another kiss just the same.


	3. Chapter 3: The Baker's Wife

**Chapter 3: The Baker's Wife**

With nervous hands, I slip into the pristine white wedding dress that my mother married my father in. Prim wore it on her wedding day, and I find myself wishing Mother could have seen me wear it on mine.

With Prim and Rory escorting me, I proceed to the Justice Building to sign the marriage license with Rye Mellark, the Baker's son. I want to keep this part very discreet, as wearing a wedding dress out in public will get the neighbors talking enough. The whole district is in a dither already that a Merchant is marrying a Seam woman.

Rye looks handsome in his tuxedo, and he is smirking much too smugly for my liking. I just want to have my lips eat that smirk right off of his face, but that is not how signing the papers is done. The Toasting - and the real ceremony - will come later.

* * *

That evening, I change into the faded blue dress from Mother's Merchant days, the one I wore to all my Reapings. Pin up my hair in the signature braid running down my back. As I stare at this young woman in the mirror, I swear I can almost see my mother, checking me over in quiet approval.

Slipping downstairs into my sister's living room, I kneel beside the fireplace with Rye and toast the bread. Standing, we share it as my family, the Baker and a handful of friends look on.

I am not completely ready when Rye pulls me flush against him. I gaze up at him, a little fearful as I weigh what I am about to embark on. Rye kisses me deeply, passionately, which surprises me for one usually so cavalier. My eyes grow wide when I remember he is kissing me in full view of a crowded house. Sweeping me into a dip, I have to weave my fingers into his hair to stay upright but also to bravely kiss him back.

The whole house erupts into cheers the moment Rye kisses me and someone captures the interaction with a flash camera; the popping of the bulb briefly blinds me. Rye pulls me up out of the dip and we tenderly break apart.

And just like that, it's over. I'm a married woman. I am Mrs. Rye Mellark. The Baker's wife.

* * *

"Mrs. Mellark? Mrs. Mellark?"

I jolt out of my daydream (one in which my husband bent over the stove was the star attraction) and refocus my attention on the customer.

"What would you recommend in terms of pastries?"

Rye laughs and saunters over, slipping an arm around my waist before I can answer. "You'll have to forgive my wife. She's partial to our cheese buns." The double entendré is not lost on me, and I swat his chest, blushing furiously. But pretending there was no innuendo, for the sake of the customer, I do recommend the cheese buns and make the sale, sending her on her way.

Glancing at the clock, I look to Rye. He smirks knowingly. "Two minutes fast." He never has gotten around to fixing that clock.

I am just about to turn back to work when he laughs. "Uh, never mind those two minutes. Go on, get out of here."

I kiss him gratefully and hang up my apron, eager to go hunting. "I'll be home by sundown. I love you!"

"I love you too!" I hear him reply just before the door to the loading dock closes.


End file.
